Cadenza
by Aldira
Summary: Harry's life was pretty simple. Wake up, do chores, get bullied, play music, and repeat. So how did he end up on stage singing in front of millions of people? Well, one thing's for sure. Television programs have never been so weird, he thought as he ducked under a flying plate of spaghetti.


Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series.

Warnings: Possible future slash, meaning boyxboy, characters might be OOC

Note: I claim no ownership to any songs mentioned in this fanfic; they belong to their respective bands/singers.

**Cadenza**

If you asked Harry when it all had started, he wouldn't have said the stage of Hogwarts. He would have said it started way before he even set foot on that stage; 4 years ago to be exact.

* * *

_Four Years Ago_

At precisely 2:20 sharp, one could hear the bell chime at St. Grogory's Primary School. Hundreds of bubbling students were let out and started crowding around each other, slowly making their way home. A particular boy, however, stood out among the others. It wasn't because he was far behind the group of children. On the contrary, he was far ahead of everyone else, feet barely touching the ground as he ran. A gang of boys charged through the crowd and chased the significantly smaller one.

A young Harry, breathing hard through his nose, pushed himself to go faster and leaned his upper body forward even more. He ducked his head, focusing on the ground as he turned multiple corners, still hearing the pounding of extra feet behind him. Glancing up quickly, he caught sight of the beginnings of stores coming to view while houses dwindled down and began to bleed further behind him. He yanked open a random door and threw himself inside. Chest heaving, he tried to gasp in as much air as possible. Sliding himself onto the ground, he scooted over until he was leaning against the same wall as the door. He took deep breaths to calm his erratic heartbeat, legs tingling from exhaustion. Harry didn't relax until he heard the thumps of his whale of a cousin and his admittedly large friends pass the store.

He finally took to examining the place he stumbled into. Wobbling slightly (his legs felt like jelly), he got up and gazed around at the multiple instruments on display. The store, lit only by the half opened blinds, had an ethereal feel to it. Clouds of dust danced around him as he walked across the room. He stopped before a grand piano, colored a majestic white; it practically demanded to be the center of attention. Brushing his fingers over the lid covering the keys, he absently traced the outline of the two detailed feathers with its tips pointed toward each other carved into the wood. He hesitated slightly before lifting the cover. He pressed a random key, reveling in the clean, smooth sound that resounded around the store.

"Did you need anything in particular?" Harry turned around so quickly, he almost tripped on his feet. "Uh, No Sir!" He winced at the volume of his voice before lowering it noticeably. "I was just, uh, looking around." The man he was speaking to was well over Harry's age. White haired and silver eyed, wrinkles showing as he smiled, he seemed to be polishing a violin. He was dressed in what Harry would imagine a bartender to be clothed in: a gray, pinstriped vest over a white button-up with a bow tie neatly wrapped around the collar. Skimming his eyes over the man's attire, Harry caught sight of a name tag pinned just over the breast pocked. Ollivander. What a peculiar name.

He quickly turned away and walked to the furthest corner, away from the man. Lined up against the wall, guitars were proudly displayed. He stopped when he saw one that stood out to him. Pinned up just above his head, stood one of the most beautiful instruments he ever saw (besides the white grand piano). The guitar was colored deep red with shimmering gold accents that swirled into the magnificent form of a phoenix about to take flight.

"Holly," Harry whirled around and stepped back, back slamming against the wall; Ollivander didn't spare a glance at him, too busy staring fondly at the instrument. "The wood is holly. Guitar string, 22 inches. Rather short, but still produces a great sound. I've only put a phoenix on one other instrument in all my life," he mumbled softly. Finally looking down at Harry, he asked eagerly, " Would you like to try?" Before he even had a chance to respond, Ollivander delicately yet quickly lifted the guitar off the hook. With his arms suddenly full, Harry awkwardly held the instrument. Ollivander looked at him excitedly when he peeked upwards. Nervously glancing down, Harry strummed a string hesitantly. The room filled with the simple but melodic sound. Warmth bloomed inside Harry. Smiling widely, he lifted his head once again to be met with twinkling eyes. "The instrument picked you. You two were destined for each other."

Harry's smile faltered slightly. "But I can't afford this." Ollivander tilted his head thoughtfully. "How about you come here every week for lessons? I wouldn't forgive you if you went on in life and not play this guitar." Harry's smile returned full force. "Deal."

So, everyday for the past 4 years, he returned to Ollivander's Music Shop for lessons. Eventually, he mastered the guitar to gravitate towards the piano. In time, he too became skilled at the piano. It was after one of his lessons when he arrived at Privet Drive that his life changed.

* * *

Walking into the house, Harry could immediately tell something was off. Not only was he not greeted with a degrading insult or angry yell followed by the purple face of his large uncle, he could hear excited voices in the living room. Making his way deeper into the hall, he could hear the telly blaring, talking about talent and auditions.

"But, dear, what about _him?" _His aunt crinkled her nose as if she smelled something disgusting. Harry wondered if he could somehow slip past the family without them noticing. Ducking his head, he quickly made his way to his cupboard.

"Harry can play the guitar!" Dudley pointed accusingly at him, freezing Harry in place. Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes before opening his mouth to no doubt start yelling at him for daring to be better than Dudley at something. Aunt Petunia placed her hand on his arm, placating her husband, motioning at Harry to stand before her. She whispered in Vernon's ear and a light entered his beady eyes. Harry had a foreboding feeling in his gut.

"Listen, Boy. You will go to the audition with Dudley and Piers and you will make my son shine on that stage. You won't stand out, you won't even _speak_. Compared to your worthlessness, the judges will be even more impressed with my Dudders," Uncle Vernon commanded. "Got it." It wasn't even a question. He didn't have a choice. Head bowed, Harry whispered, "Yes, Uncle Vernon," before shuffling out of the room.

Harry opened his cupboard and immediately reached under his bed for his guitar, the very same guitar he laid eyes on the first time he stumbled into Ollivander's shop. His godfather, Sirius Black, gave it to him as an eleventh birthday present. Sirius was locked in prison for most of Harry's life. He was framed for aiding a big name terrorist in the death of Harry's parents. When Harry was eleven, Sirius was proven innocent and released from prison. It turned out that Peter Pettigrew, an old friend of Lily and James Potter, did the act out of jealousy. In the end, Sirius was reunited with Harry, who he hadn't seen since he was one years old. Unfortunately, no one escapes jail with all of their sanity intact. Even though it doesn't show very often, Harry can sometimes see a side of Sirius that wasn't all there. He guessed the judge saw that too because he said Sirius would need some counseling before he would be allowed to take custody of Harry, at least five years worth of therapy. Harry was always counting down how many days he would have to stay here before Sirius would rescue him.

"Boy! Come and make dinner!"

Harry sighed before tucking his guitar safely back under his bed.

* * *

When all of them were packed into Vernon's compact car, Harry was pressed tightly against the door. Even though there was a whole seat between him and his cousin, Dudley deemed Harry would be a good kicking bag. He gritted his teeth as he and the door become one, the handle of the door digging into his ribs. Harry was relieved that he thought beforehand and put his guitar in the trunk along with the family's heavy bags and suitcases packed with unnecessary clothes and electronics. Harry grunted after a particularly hard kick to his side. Leaning his head against the window, Harry prayed to any god out there that this would be a peaceful trip, knowing it would get a lot worse when they picked up Piers.

After one cruel two hour trip, they finally arrived at the town of Hogsmeade, where the vocal talent show was being held. From what Harry could gather from Dudley's conversation with Piers, the three would be auditioning for the Scottish television program called Hogwarts. All participants need to be under the age of 18. If you made it past the judges, you were then "sorted" into a "house," whatever that meant. Hogwarts was not only just a singing competition, but the contestants had to do multiple challenges as they progress closer to the finals. Though Harry had never watched the show, it must be very difficult from his cousin's descriptions, despite his arrogant tone ("Of course, _we'll_ pass with no problems at all").

When Harry stepped out of the car, he immediately opened the trunk even though his sore body protested the movement. He knew that it would take more than one trip to haul in all of the bags so he quickly grabbed two and started walking towards the inn. Setting foot into The Three Broomsticks, Harry instantly felt a sense of warmth. It was a bit crowded with people coming in and out, but it had that homey feel to it. Walking past the bar where a beautiful lady was serving drinks, Harry headed up the stairs to the fourth level.

Setting down the last bag, Harry looked around to find his aunt darting around the hotel room, pampering her "precious Dudders" and Piers. When she deemed them polished enough, she set about making herself seem more cultured and wealthy. Decked out in a floral print dress and adorned with pearl accessories, she caked layers of make-up on her face. Uncle Vernon stood in front of the mirror fixing his tie, which looked like it was choking him. The clothes Piers and Dudley were wearing looked stiff and uncomfortable. Overall, they were smartly dressed, with the exception of Harry. He was still in his best clothes out of his pig of a cousin's hand-me-downs, but it paled in comparison to the others'. His shirt was a faded grey and his trousers a slightly dirty khaki brown. The threads near the edges were loose and some rips were present from his calves down. While the others wore classy shoes, he sported worn out trainers with a scuffed sole and his big toe poking out on his left shoe.

When they finally filed into the car once more, Harry sat quietly and thought of ways to not make a fool out of himself in front of thousands of people.

* * *

Standing in front of Hogwarts, Harry felt his nervousness increase tenfold. The building was more like an ancient castle than anything else with its towers and stone columns. A line of people led into the wooden double doors that was the entrance. With his guitar case in hand, Harry stepped in line behind his relatives. An hour later, mood slightly irritated from Dudley's and Piers's complaints, they were led into a waiting room. Along with them, there was a family of many redheads. A few of them sent him a smile as a pair of twins left the rest to go on stage. When Uncle Vernon sneered and Aunt Petunia turned her nose up at them, Harry sent them an apologetic look. Whispering a derogatory comment aimed at the large family, Petunia did some last minute touch ups on Dudley. Hearing applause, Harry turned and saw the twins head back in while a boy about Harry's age went through the curtain. A few minutes later, he emerged with loud clapping behind him. Another redhead, this time an older boy with glasses stepped on stage. Cheers rang through the hall as he stepped back in. The only girl walked out and had the audience clapping before she returned. The mother of the family was hugging her children and the dad was congratulating them on a job well done. The one with muscular arms and the another with his hair pulled into a ponytail clapped the others on the back.

When Dudley, Piers, and Harry were ushered to step on stage, Harry nodded at the family as he walked past. Some smiled while the others returned the nod. The youngest boy shot him a thumbs up.

Following behind his cousin, the bright lights blinded him for a few seconds before his eyesight adjusted. Harry's eyes widened as he spotted the amount of people present. Polite clapping echoed around them as the three stood in front the four judges, Harry slightly behind the others. He set the guitar case on the floor. He adjusted his grip on the guitar, the strap a comforting weight on his shoulders.

"Hello, welcome to Hogwarts!" a smiling lady, Sprout, greeted them. The judges all sat on one long desk. They had their names displayed on the side of the desk facing them. Next to her sat a strict looking woman dressed in tartan patterns, McGonagall. On the other side of Sprout was Flitwick, a rather short man shifting eagerly in his seat. On the other end of the table sat the youngest judge, a menacing man with greasy black curtains for hair. "And what are your names?"

"I'm Dudley."

"And I'm Piers."

"Dudley? What in Merlin's name is a Dudley?" Snape said snidely. That got a few chortles from the crowd. Harry had to stifle a laugh at remark. He turned his head and hid his smile on his shoulder. "And what about the young man behind you?"

Dudley pulled a face. "Just my cousin."

"What song will you be singing for us today?" Sprout continued despite her curious glance in Harry's direction.

"Uh, Glad You Came by the Wanted," Dudley answered. Piers nodded.

Snape sneered. "Well, get on with it." Dudley shrank back and trembled slightly. He shoved Harry on the shoulder, making him stumble back. Harry stepped on his guitar case and tapped his foot, making a background beat as he strummed his guitar. He started the song and sang the first verse.

_After all, save the best for last, right?_ he thought sarcastically.

The crowd, dare he say it, seemed to actually like the song. Well, the beginning at least. Before the three got booed. Harry was happy that he got a few claps for his singing.

"That was the most atrocious sound I've ever heard," Snape started. "You should quit singing for good."

Sprout sighed. "I have to be honest with you boys. That just wasn't good."

"It's going to be a no from me," McGonagall said.

Flitwick shook his head so rapidly that his beard flailed around. "It's a no as well."

Dudley stomped his foot and let out a cry of outrage. He set his furious beady gaze onto Harry. "This is your fault!" He reared back his fist and punched Harry in the face. The force of the blow knocked him to the ground. Angling his body so that his guitar won't be smashed under him, Harry huddled protectively around it as Piers got in a few kicks as well. The two walked off, leaving him on the ground.

"Oh Merlin! Are you all right?" The judges were on their feet in alarm. Standing up quickly, he nodded and averted his gaze to his prized possession, checking it for any damage. With a slight bow, he shuffled after his cousin. Entering through the curtains, Harry saw Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon comforting Dudley, saying he was perfect, the judges were idiots and it was all Harry's fault. Piers stood by and added his own two cents in every now and them. He noticed that the family of redheads were no longer present, probably somewhere celebrating. As Harry was contemplating sneaking away and coming back later when his family had calmed down, the show's host, Hagrid, poked his head through the curtain. His brown eyes searched through the little group before landing on Harry's emerald ones. "Ah, lad. Would ya come here for a sec'n? The judges 're callin' for ya." Surprised and nervous, Harry followed after the giant man after casting a quick glance at his family. Self-righteousness and triumph filled Dudley's eyes, stating Harry was going to be called out for his stupidity and worthlessness.

Head cast down as he stood once again on the stage, Harry prepared for ridicule as Dudley had told him. "Well, young man. We hadn't heard much of your voice though it was beautiful for the short moment we did. Could you sing us a song so we could fully evaluate it?" Shocked, he lifted his head to lock onto the sincere orbs of McGonagall. Snapping back to reality, Harry blinked rapidly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, yeah." Snape snorted at his eloquence, or lack thereof. Harry ignored him as he started playing the chords to Unwell by Matchbox 20. "All day, staring at the ceiling/ Making friends with shadows on my wall…"

Silence echoed through the room before furious applause ignited. Harry ducked his head as red bloomed his cheeks. He smiled sheepishly and scuffed his shoe against the floor.

"That was beautiful!" Sprout commented.

"Magnificent," McGonagall nodded her head proudly at him.

"Amazing! You sang with so much emotion! Splendid! I love it! You, my boy, are a star!" Flitwick was squirming so much that he fell off his seat.

Snape sneered. "Trash. That's what your singing was. How people can stomach this stuff is beyond my knowledge."

"Don't listen to him, he's wrong!" Sprout comforted him.

"I'm right. You're all wrong," Snape shot back.

"Time to vote," Mcgonagall interrupted them.

"No."

"Yes."

"It's a yes from me!"

"Three yeses! You are going to Hogwarts!"

* * *

This suddenly came to me a year or two ago when I was watching America's Got Talent and The Voice. I'll add in more things to make it more interesting than words describing people singing, drama (maybe romance?) to spice things up a bit.


End file.
